


Always Distant | A Criminal Minds Story

by straightlycurved



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Adultery, Bi Spencer Reid, Bisexual Spencer Reid, Eventual Romance, F/F, F/M, Friendship, M/M, Mysterious Person - Freeform, New Team Member, Slow Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-27
Updated: 2020-08-23
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:02:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 16,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25278166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/straightlycurved/pseuds/straightlycurved
Summary: Alternate Universe of the Criminal Minds TV show. I do not own any of the copyrighted or trademarked property mentioned in this fanfiction.A mysterious OC joins the BAU and seems adamant on staying as distant as possible from the team. Not used to being an incomplete family, can the BAU manage to warm a cold heart?also posted on fanfiction dot net and wattpad. weekly updates, schedule may fluctuate.
Relationships: Jennifer "JJ" Jareau/Spencer Reid, Jennifer "JJ" Jareau/William LaMontagne Jr., Savannah Hayes/Derek Morgan, Spencer Reid/Original Male Character(s)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 25





	1. Season 1: Episode 1: "Pilot"

**Author's Note:**

> a/n: i'm writing this as i go. there's gonna be a few errors and stuff. morgan stayed. hotch left. alvez isn't existent. also, lewis doesn't work for the bau in this AU. she left full-time for the research project in season 12. will and jj exist, but they only have henry.

As he rolled up his sleeve to check the time, a rather fancy smartwatch informed him that the time was 4:07 AM. Obviously reaching some sort of satisfaction with that reading, he took a deep breath and swiped his card to enter the FBI Building in Quantico, Virginia.

Apparently not fazed by the complete lack of life surrounding him, he confidently strode to the elevator on long legs and pressed the button labeled "6" as if it were not his first day, but his last.

If one were to check the security camera at the point in which he entered the sixth floor lobby, they would see he was seriously underdressed for whatever event he was present. Anyone arriving after he emerged from the locker room, freshly showered and in a suit and tie, however, would not observe that.

Instead, as they pushed through the glass doors to enter a forum of desks that belonged to the BAU Alpha Team, they would see a rather intimidating man sitting at a messy desk, without a hint of a smile on his face, poring through document after document, consulting something in his lap periodically whilst he typed on a computer.

And for a long time, almost two hours, he was there, doing just that. To even the first people who arrived in the bullpen at a less ungodly hour, he went oddly unnoticed. To think a man who had never set foot in that building before, let alone a man of such imposing stature, blended in so easily was a testament not the ignorance of his hypervigilant colleagues, but to his skills of camouflage and ability to stay focused.

He, however, would not be ignored for much longer. Even he did not know it yet, but it was fated to happen and in more ways than one.

**Quantico, Virginia | 9:39 AM**

His remarkable focus, usually an asset, was a detriment to him today as he remained unaware of both the whispers and the stares with him as their subjects. It was Dr. Spencer Reid, SSA Jennifer Jareau, and, surpisingly, SSA Derek Morgan who leaned against the Doctor's desk, contemplating who he was.

"Do you think he's who Emily thinks should replace Hotch?" asked JJ.

"Why else would he be here, then?" replied Morgan. "He even dresses like Hotch."

"I mean, a suit and tie are pretty common fashion statements around here, Derek. I remember when you used to wear them," JJ smirked.

"It was a phase, all right? Now if we're going to talk about fashion choices, let's talk about Pretty Boy here," Morgan deflected. "He went from wearing sweater vests to dress shirts with ties to a suit and tie..."

Both JJ and Morgan turned to where Reid was sitting, expecting a response. When nothing came, JJ prodded. "Spence...?"

Still, silence.

"Pretty Boy, where you at?" said Morgan a little forcefully.

Reid responded nonverbally at first. He held up a single finger, the universal sign for give me a minute. Eventually, he said, without breaking his gaze on the mystery man, "He doesn't like wearing the suit and tie. He's only wearing them to make a good impression. If I had to guess, I'd say the moment he gets out of here he switches into a t-shirt and shorts. Did you know the origin of wearing a suit and tie to work can be traced back to-"

"That's enough, Spence," JJ said, laughing. "How can you tell anyway?"

"Look at how he's constantly trying to change how the pant leg falls over his leg, indicating he's uncomfortable with how the pants fit in that region of his leg. However, I did some measurements from here, and for a man who stands roughly 6' 4" and 220 pounds, that size 42 dress pant should fit perfectly, but he's still trying to change it."

Morgan shook his head, walking away. "And here I thought you were oblivious."

Reid looked around confused and made a gesture signalling, what?

JJ had a sudden urge to touch his shoulder and quell his confusion, but she resisted. It had never happened before, even for as long as they had been best friends. Hugs, yes, but never an inexplicable desire to touch and never let go. She shook herself out of it and giggled while heading back to her desk.

Exasperated, Reid decided to ignore both shorts man and his annoying friends and get back to finishing up his paperwork for the serial murder case they'd wrapped up the other day. By BAU standards, the case was a breeze, being in and out of New Hampshire in six hours and arresting the unsub before he'd even had a chance to clean his knife off.

Dr. Spencer Reid smiled at that.

**Quantico, Virginia | 10:02 AM**

"Conference room, now," said Garcia, walking past the bullpen and her colleagues. All of them chorused some type of good morning greeting to Garcia, but she responded directly to Morgan with a response that should have been trademarked at this point: "I'll show you a good morning, hot stuff."

The mystery man looked up from his desk when he noticed a flurry of movement in his peripheral vision. Panicking internally, worried that they'd forget him, he rushed to smoothen out his outfit, play with his hair, and grabbed whatever he'd been reading. He rushed up the steps.

With that, the team gathered in their conference room. The shorts man showed up moments after the last two people, Prentiss and Rossi, walked in. All eyes turned to look at him, and he did nothing, stopping a good feet from the foot of the table and averting eye contact with anyone. He flipped through one of the numerous files he held in his left arm, and he spoke in a strangely fitting voice.

"I'm looking for a Unit Chief Prentiss?" He looked up then, and still not making eye contact with anything but the walls, he scanned the room.

He nodded at her when Prentiss made herself known. "That's me. You must be FIO Bell."

"That is correct, ma'am."

"Just Emily is fine, Officer Bell."

The seated team members exchanged glances among one another, and they all seemed to be thinking the same thing. FIO? Officer? Where does this guy work?"

"Ma'am?" If you looked closely into FIO Bell's eyes, and by closely, I mean CLOSELY, you'd see a sign of bewilderment. His tone conveyed it accurately, though.

"You can call me Prentiss or Emily, Bell."

"Madam Unit Chief, with all due respect, I don't think it's appropriate for me to address anyone in this room by anything but a title of respect."

Morgan raised an eyebrow at that. He was not alone.

Emily sighed. "You always were a stickler for legality and rules, although that really shouldn't have come as a surprise. Suit yourself." She turned to the team, introducing, "Everyone, this Foreign Intelligence Officer Bell. He's done more jobs than we can count."

Bell took the shortest of breaths before speaking, knowing the group of master profilers in front of him would notice everything he did. It was crucial to not show weakness. He crisply said, "Hello to you all. I'm FIO Bell, and I'm tenured here at the FBI for an unspecified amount of time. I have degrees in Psychology, International Law, Economics, Computer and Data Science. Additionally, I am certified in other courses." With that, he looked directly at someone for the first time today. He looked at Spencer.

Reid's eyes sparkled with delight. A man no older than 27, with a pool of knowledge comparable to his. He had never imagined in his wildest dreams that someone like the man standing before him would come to the FBI.

Bell looked away, and kept stating facts about himself matter-of-factly, as if he was divulging more than he wished was needed. "As Madam Unit Chief Prentiss said, I've had a lot of titles since I got recruited into law enforcement, my most recent one being a rather long tenure for me. I headed up the Interpol North America/Asia-Pacific Joint Taskforce on Operation Remedial."

JJ seemed to recognize the name. With her connections at the Pentagon, she had come to know about the biggest American Interpol involvement since 9/11. "You say that as if it's no small feat! Operation Remedial was the most efficient Interpol mission since-I don't know when!"

Bell shrugged, and JJ's smile turned into a frown. She had realized what Bell planned to say next.

"As you can probably tell, I don't fit the bill my name sets. and FIO Bell isn't my name. However, since I have LEPC Level J, I can't-"

"Share your real name with us." SSA Rossi cut in.

"That would be correct, sir. After I finished in Singapore, I was reassigned to a classified USAI/Interpol team, and that has led me here. I don't know my role here, which is where Unit Chief Prentiss will enlighten us all as to why I was transferred here."

The team noted the odd choice of words, and wondered if Bell really even wanted to be at the BAU. He made a mental note of that.

Emily obliged with his request. "FIO Bell is here to join the BAU. Our team, specifically."

There was an audible gasp from Garcia as she realized what was happening. She had a new team member, and she hadn't been able to run a background check.

The team was shocked, but Bell put up an unfazed facade. "I'm sorry if I get in the way or I'm not as effective these first few days. I flew in to Dulles, what," *here he looked at his watch* "10 hours ago and I haven't profiled since I was 23 and at Interpol Canada."

An awkward silence ensued.

Garcia finally cleared her throat and broke it. "To the case then, my furry friends."


	2. Season 1: Episode 2: "Animalistic"

**BAU Jet | 10:46 AM (EST)**

Bell raised an eyebrow as he approached the hangar in a standard-issue FBI SUV. For a country with chronically under-funded public infrastructure, the U.S. sure had a lot of money to spare for a private jet. Morgan finally parked next to another black SUV and stepped out. Reid did the same from the passenger-side front seat, leaving Bell to his thoughts for a few moments. 

As he stared out of the heavily tinted window, the Officer reflected upon the subtle cues he'd noticed during the team's interactions with him and one another. For one, they functioned as much more of a familial unit than a federal one, and from the start they'd been trying to profile him, trying to gauge his true intentions.

They'd only see what he let them. A master of facades, Bell could regain his composure within split seconds if need be. No one would ever be able to tell what he was feeling or thinking. Which was a good thing, especially for a reserved, socially-averse person like him. 

A sharp knock on the window shook him out of his stupor. SSA Jareau stood outside the car, leaning on the door. Looking down at his Interpol-issued watch, he realized it had been over three minutes since his teammates had exited the car. Hastily, he opened the door, internally yelling at himself for making a terrible impression om his teammates.

Being a sucker for punctuality, Bell started apologizing profusely from the moment he stepped out. Starting with JJ, all the way until Prentiss finally shot him a "that's enough, it's ok" look on the plane. It was enough to shut him up.

It was then that he noticed that every pair of eyes was on him. He awkwardly looked down and started reading through the files he was still carrying in an odd backpack, his facade cracking for a second or two. It was the longest FIO Bell had ever let his true self shine through in his intense career. 

It concerned him, knowing that the elite group of profilers before him would not have let it slide. He listened to the debriefing and the delegation of assets, but internally he was hoping that they wouldn't press him on his private life or personality. Those hopes would be crushed.

**North Little Rock, Arkansas | 12:34 PM (CST)**

"Thank you for coming, agents," said a local detective. "We haven't had a serial homicide case here in over 15 years, and we have no idea how to deal with it. I'm Detective Paulsen, NLRPD."

Prentiss flashed him a small smile and introduced herself. "I'm SSA Emily Prentiss, we spoke on the phone. Our team hit the ground running, but with me I have SSA Dr. Spencer Reid, and SSA David Rossi." 

Shaking hands, Paulsen motioned the agents to follow him into the police precinct. "Your technical analyst called ahead and we've set you up in a small room with some evidence boards. Everything you need is in the boxes on the desk, and if you want anything else, don't hesitate to ask." 

"Thank you, Detective, this will do fine," said Prentiss. Turning to her team, she rubbed her hands together. "Let's get to work." 

**12:42 PM**

JJ and Bell arrived at the latest crime scene after sitting through an awkward, silent drive. Bell almost drove past their destination, he was so deep in thought. This forced JJ to have to tell him to stop. 

"Heh. Sorry, ma'am." Bell awkwardly murmured. 

Stepping out of the car, JJ instructed, "Stop making me feel old, Bell. No ma'ams, SSAs, or anything of the sort. Just call me JJ, everyone does!" 

Bell politely refused. "No can do ma'am, you're much more experienced than me with this stuff, therefore I will address you by the proper title, SSA Jareau." 

JJ chuckled. "I hope you know the team won't let you call us that. You'll crack eventually."

Deciding to change the topic, he started reviewing the details of the case, observing, "So we've got a serial killer who decides to not take any trophies, not commit any sort of overkill, and doesn't bother hiding the body? No message, no evidence, all we've got are three bodies."

"He's also crossed racial, age, and socioeconomic boundaries. What are we looking at here?" 

While JJ surveyed the scene, she didn't notice Bell crouch down and examine the soil in the back alley. "Ma'am, you might want to see this."

She looked at the brown dust in his hands. "Dirt?"

"Not just any dirt, this is a manured, fertilized farming soil, ma'am. If I had to guess, I'd say a compost + sulfuric ammonia compound. This is highly specialized. We've got an idea of where he works, or at least where he was, now."

"You're starting to sound like Reid, Bell," JJ said, trying to stifle a laugh. "Where?"

"A biotechnology company, a pharmaceutical company, or a grain farm, ma'am. What can I say, that Env Sci degree that my parents said was a waste of a diploma can come in handy sometimes."

**12:43 PM**

Morgan examined the body in front of him as the M.E. explained a few details to him. 

"We couldn't get anything strange off this body. This woman died in the same way as the other three did--exsanguination by way of a severed carotid artery. The same knife was used. No ligature marks, no signs of asphyxiation. We couldn't get any DNA off of the body, and we're running dental records now."

"So what you're saying is we've got nothing but three dead women."

**7:34 PM**

The team was flabbergasted by the killings when Bell walked in with an Interpol file in one hand and a large bowl of salad in the other. Stumbling and barely balancing the two items, he announced, "I got it."

"Got what?" quirked Rossi, still looking at the evidence board. 

"The profile!" 

Prentiss spun upon hearing those words. "How? What?"

"I vaguely remembered a team dealing with something like this last year, a spree killer with no victimology, no message, and nothing discernable from the bodies." He looked around the room, at no one in particular. He set the salad down and walked to the board. "They wrote a new profile, because this--this isn't anything the US has seen yet. This is a chemical reaction." 

"I remember reading about that!" exclaimed Reid. "In _Criminal Psychology,_ October edition! An extremely rare genetic mutation on the 7th X chromosome. It was called Barker-Porter 7X syndrome. When a person with this mutation comes into contact with a certain gas, they lose control of their prefrontal cortex, losing all-decision making. They succumb to their darkest, most savage and animalistic desires." 

Bell shook his head. "The UN intervened to censor the most important part of the profile. If someone is in a BP7X state, it's shoot on sight. They become almost superhuman, with no regard for their own life. There's no reasoning with them. You hesitate, you die."

JJ involuntarily shuddered, prompting Reid to pat her shoulder. She leaned into his touch. 

Morgan said, "It's time to deliver the profile." 

**6:34 AM (CST, the next day)**

"Thank you agents. I can't believe that a human is capable of that kind of savagery." Detective Paulsen was grateful.

"No problem, Detective. It was new to us, too. Thankfully, our newest agent was able to crack the missing element," Prentiss replied. 

Bell nodded stoicly at the detective, and then at Prentiss. They hopped into their cars, leaving behind the precinct to head to Little Rock, and to the airport. But the team wasn't thinking of their weekend plans, or their families, or the reports they'd have to finish upon arrival in Quantico.

No, they were thinking of ways to crack open the shell that was FIO Bell, in hopes of seeing his true self. They were thnking; no, _hoping_ , that this mysterious man who seemed to prefer shorts to pants would be able to become part of their family. 

With Hotch gone, they had a huge hole in their team. Bell more than filled the gap in their heads. Could he do the same in their hearts? 


	3. Season 1: Episode 3: "You Don't"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a/n: two updates this week ;)

**FedEx Field | Washington, District of Columbia**

FIO Bell truly enjoyed very few things in life. Considering how much professional turmoil there was in his life, he'd never truly been able to grow as a person and explore hobbies and interests. But when there came a chance for him to engage in his favorite pastimes, he jumped on the chance.

That is why he found himself at the gates of FedEx field on a rainy Sunday afternoon, dressed in a gray sweatshirt with a red San Francisco 49ers jersey on top, hood drawn. He grumbled to himself about East Coast weather. Stepping up to the ticket scanner, Bell grabbed a phone and pulled up something that made the man tending to this particular gate raise an eyebrow.

Purposefully ignoring the man's obvious surprise at whatever he'd shown, he walked into the stadium and up to his seat. Sitting behind the endzone was one of his favorite vantage points to watch football from.

The kickoff sequence began and a sloppy game ensued. The rain made it hard for anyone to hold on to anything, but Bell enjoyed it all the same. October football made him happy in ways he could not being to describe.

Even a scoreless game at half could not knock him off a serotonin high. The dirty looks from Redskins fans (they actually existed??) seemed to not bother him every time he yelled his head off whenever his boys did anything remotely positive.

Bell knew that being an obnoxious asshole at an away game probably wouldn't end well; he kept being one all the same. Standing 6 foot 5, 220 pounds, he figured anyone who actually wanted to mess with him would be too drunk to be of much consequence.

Unfortunately, he hadn't counted on being watched.

The third quarter began a little after Officer Bell finished stuffing his face with stadium pizza and fries.

"I can feel my cholesterol level rising already," he joked to no one in particular. "Eh, I'll probably work it all off at the gym tomorrow. You only live once, right?"

Nine minutes passed, and finally, at 5:28 left in the third quarter, the 49ers put points on the board. For the first time since he'd moved to Quantico, he smiled.

"WOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" Bell hollered. "Let's gooo! Suck it, losers!"

A fellow SF fan next to him slapped him five and they participated in a bro hug.

The dopey grin remained on his face through not one, but two more scores, with the game ending in a win for his boys, 9-0. Elated that the underdogs had stayed undefeated, he walked up to every Niners fan in the place and gave them a fist bump.

Had he known his moves were being scrutinized, he likely would have not done so.

A blonde haired, blue eyed Pennsylvania girl and a tough Chicago native stood far back, laughing.

"How much do you want to bet he'll come in there tomorrow and act all serious in a dress shirt," chortled Morgan.

"Everything I've ever owned." JJ was keeled over in laughter. "I mean, I get that the Skins lost, but I think this more than makes up for it!"

"I think we've found the way to his heart, Blondie," Morgan said.

JJ replied, "He's a tough nut to crack, but yes, I think we'll get in this way. Let's go thank Garcia."

**6:32 pm**

"Will, for the last time, I was at a football game with Morgan!" JJ said.

"What, so now even when you are in town, your family ain't good enough for you to spend time with anymore? Why are you always with your coworkers, cher?!" Will yelled back.

"Maybe because they aren't always on my case about spending time with them, Will!"

"I'm not in the wrong here, JJ..." Will said, dropping his voice.

"I know, I know, I just--I don't...I feel suffocated at home, and I don't understand why..." JJ whispered. This was a lie. She knew exactly why she couldn't stay at home: the overwhelming guilt she felt whenever her husband did something sweet, like he was doing now.

Will enveloped her in a warm embrace. "Hey, cher, it's ok. I'm sorry for yelling at you."

"Me too, Will." _Liar._

**4:25 am | the next day**

Reid lay awake in his bed, contemplating quantum theory. It was something he subconsciously did whenever he felt something was wrong, which he did now. He didn't know what, or where, or even who, but he knew that he wouldn't be getting much sleep that night.

He sighed and got up. It was too early for even him to come into the office, but he could think of nothing else to do. Reid grabbed a coffee jug, set it under his coffee maker, and went to get ready for work.

By the time he was all showered and caffeinated, the clock above his desk read 5:02 am. He decided that he might as well get there before Hotch would have, or everybody else, really, to try and lighten their caseloads a little.

Luckily for him, the Metro had started running but two minutes ago, meaning he could get to the office by half past. He was expecting some peace and quiet at the office, with solitude often being the Doctor's only solace on days like these.

Reid would not find solace in silence that morning. The elevator dumped him on the sixth floor as he sipped the last of his coffee-flavored sugar. He did a double take when he saw someone sitting at their desk through the glass doors.

"Bell?" he muttered confusedly. "Why is he here?" _He lost the suit, I guess. He seems more comfortable. I wonder what it is that puts him on edge when we're around._

The man in question looked up and when he saw someone walking into the bullpen, his body language changed ever-so-slightly, something that even most profilers wouldn't pick up on. Reid did.

"Good morning, Doctor Reid. Why are you here so early, sir?" Asked Bell.

"Couldn't sleep. You too, huh?"

Bell stiffened. "Yeah, of course. You know, newbie jitters and all that, sir."

_He's lying,_ Reid thought to himself. _Did he even go to sleep? He doesn't look tired, and there's no coffee on his desk..._

"Yeah, I got it." Reid fake smiled.

_I've gotta talk to Morgan and Garcia about this. Maybe JJ too._

**10:56 am**

Garcia waited anxiously for Bell to leave the room so that she could gather her babies to discuss this new intel on the FIO.

When he finally got up from his seat after nearly three straight hours of work, she squealed and briskly walked through the bullpen, gathering her three minions to conduct a meeting in her office. When they were all gathered, she commenced the top secret discussion.

"Okay, my sweets.what do you have for me?" Garcia greeted.

JJ went first. "He's putting up a facade at the office. Morgan and I were at the Redskins game yesterday, and he was too, like you told us."

"Guy was jumping around like a little kid. By the way, baby girl, how _did_ you know he was going to be there?"

Elsewhere, Bell was walking back to his desk from his office only to find a bullpen devoid of any BAU agents. "Weird," he mumbled to himself. He glanced up at the round table room, but there was no one there.

Rossi and Prentiss were still in their respective offices. Where were the rest of the SSAs? He was determined to find them. Maybe they had an assignment and forgot about him, considering he was the newest member. After all, it was too early for lunch, and too late for breakfast.

Pondering their possible locations, he realized Garcia was unaccounted for too. Officer Bell quickly strode in the direction of her office and was about to knock when his name being said from the other side of the door, effectively freezing him.

"...he was here even before I was! Hell, he was here before Hotch used to be here. It seemed like he'd never even gone home," said the distinct voice of Dr. Reid.

"So how _do_ we get him to crack?" said a female voice.

Suddenly, the door opened. Bell had heard enough.

"You **don't**." 


	4. Season 1: Episode 4: "Your Fault"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a/n: one reviewer expressed a concern about our oc being a gary stu. I assure you, this is not the case. In fact, this oc's backstory is one you probably won't see anywhere else. enjoy!

_The sound of his feet pounding upon the sand below him. His heavy breathing. The sounds of the equipment he carried with his uniform. The roar of an SUV driving out into the desert. As the sun beat down on the camo of his military vest, dust in his wake, he pulled out a second firearm in his free hand. He carried an M45 in one hand and a Mk 16 in the other._

_The townspeople around him scurried into their houses. The urgency of the situation was palpable. They had to be caught. They had to be. They knew by now that a military officer carrying two loaded and un-safetied firearms meant bad news. Behind him, two of his Ops Team Members followed._

_"Alley clear."_

_"Garage clear."_

_"Boss, up ahead, two SUVs!" one of the followers shouted._

_"Which one is them?!" yelled the leader back._

_In their ears, a voice spoke. "God damn it, I don't know!"_

_"Make a decision quickly! They're about to head into firing range!" the other follower urged._

_The three military personnel upped their speed to get into position. The Leader spoke into his earpiece again. "Spec Ops 3 to Singapore Back Ops do you copy? Over."_

_"Spec Ops 3, Affirmative. Over."_

_"Unit Director, you've got to choose! T-minus 10 seconds!" The team leader yelled._

_In Singapore, a man paced around the control room, with a live camera feed of what was happening in the desert. East or South. East or South. EAST OR SOUTH? He thought to himself._

_"T-minus 5."_

_EAST?_

_"T-minus 4."_

_SOUTH?_

_"T-minus 3."_

_South. Yeah, south._

_"T-minus 2."_

_What if he was wrong? Lives were at stake here._

_"T-minus 1."_

_EAST OR SOUTH._

_The Unit Director had less than a millisecond. East or so-_

_"THE ONE HEADING EAST! I REPEAT, TARGETS ARE HEADING EAST!" He finally spit it out, just as the clock hit zero._

_He turned to face the screen at the front of the room._

_The Team Leader ordered, "You heard the man! Fire!"_

_The sound of bullets rang out clearly in the otherwise deathly silence of the locked-down desert town._

_Boom-boom-boom-boom-boom-boom-boom-boom-boo-_

_Like fireworks, the shots continued to sound. Unfortunately, as the Unit Director realized, there was nothing to celebrate._

_The golden bullets pierced the side of the white RAV-4 and shredded the car, along with anyone inside. Out fell three bodies._

_A man. A woman. A little boy. It was a family. Not the rebels. He'd killed a family. The Unit Director suddenly collapsed into a chair._

_Why weren't the fireworks stopping?_

_Their corpses suddenly moved. Mangled and littered with bullet holes, the youngest one spoke. "You killed us. You did this to us. This is your fault."_

_"What! No! It was a mistake, I swear! I didn't mean for this-" Why weren't the fireworks stopping?_

_"You're a monster. You killed my baby! My son! How could you?!" The mother wailed._

_Their bodies floated through the screen and into the control room. The UD looked around. Where was everyone? The room was full not a moment ago. He started frantically scrambling backward. Why weren't they **stopping**?!_

_"You bastard. You sinner. How could you? This is because of you. You're worthless. You're scum. You killed my family. You killed my people." The father said._

_Suddenly, the dead family's faces morphed into those of his own. Now, his mother, his father, and his younger brother continued their march toward him. They repeated the same mantra. "Your fault. Your fault. Your fault."_

_Wanting to back up more, the UD reached out behind him only to find a wall. He'd backed into a corner. "No-"_

_"Your fault."_

_"Wait-"_

_"Your fault."_

_Suddenly, guns appeared in the hands of his family._

_"You don't-"_

_"Your fault."_

_"Don't do this-"_

_"Your fault."_

_"I'm your son-your bro-"_

_WHY WEREN'T THE FIREWORKS STOPPING?_

_The three guns were aimed at him._

_"Your fault."_

_"No no no no NO NO NOO-"_

_His screams were cut off by the spraying of bullets. The sound blended right into those of the perpetual fireworks._

**Fredericksburg, Virginia | 1:12 am**

FIO Bell shot up from his bed, gasping. His throat felt like a million fires were burning inside of it. His forehead glistened with sweat in the soft moonlight. He was hyperventilating. Inhaling as much oxygen as he could, the Officer tried his best to stop his mind from racing.

He didn't know how much longer he could do this. Keep all these secrets. Keep up the tough guy act. Keep all his PTSD, although he refused to believe it was that, bottled up. Keep the guilt and the depression in his mind, eating away at his ever-shrinking sense of self. Keep waking up after two hours of sleep and working 22 non-stop. He was going to explode.

This team was good at cracking him, although that was to be expected. Even after he told the four in Garcia's lab they wouldn't get to him, they'd kept trying. It was beginning to wear him down.

Add a tired soul to a group of experts at reading them, and the results would be disastrous if the former Interpol employee wanted to keep anything classified for much longer. He didn't know what to do.

Bell's superiors at Interpol told him he was not to talk to anyone about the happenings of Operation Remedial and the events both preceding and succeeding it. Not even a therapist. He knew he had to, but at what cost?

And to who?

Finally, Bell's heart stopped beating at a ridiculous speed and he was able to regain control. He sighed. Less than two hours today. He might have to pick up Reid's coffee habits, he thought to himself.

The man chuckled to himself as he got out of bed, a sound lacking emotion of every kind except for a tinge of wist and envy. He envied those who had people to talk to about their problems. Who led normal lives. It was wrong of him, he knew.

But even the most pessimistic of men could dream, right?

**Quantico, Virginia | 3:22 am**

Bell brought a suitcase with him into the locker room. There was no point in going back home to his apartment anymore. He'd get the same amount of sleep at his desk or in Morgan's office on the couch as he would at home.

Sighing, he sat down at the desk he was at not 4 hours ago. Out of his sweaty t-shirt and shorts he went, into a dress shirt and khakis. His hair still wet from the shower, he looked at the surface. No files.

He then looked at Prentiss's and JJ's. There were quite a few. He looked at the stacks. Might as well, he rationalized. No one will ever be the wiser, and it'll kill some time. Get my mind off things. God knows he needed that.

The guilt was too overwhelming. The will to live too small. The PTSD as a black cloud above his head. Bell shook it off.

He plugged in some headphones and got to work.

He escaped the horrors of his own world and listened to someone else rap about theirs, going over case files of some family's worst nightmare.

But he was more at peace here than he was at home.


	5. Season 1: Episode 5: "Acting Unit Chief"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a/n: i very much suck at specifying certain things. Everyone’s been AR’d to their season 6 ages, but all their experiences remain. It ruins continuity, but i wanted it this way so its gonna happen. This chapter is just fluff.

**5:45 am | that same day**

Ever since Emily Prentiss had become Unit Chief, she’d made it her mission to get to the office before half past five. Today was one of those days she did not meet that goal. She rushed out of her DC apartment a frazzled but presentable mess, and she’d had nothing but terrible luck all morning.

She should have expected her car to break down in the busiest freeway interchange in the DC Metro Area. She was now stuck in the shoulder lane of a busy intersection with a dead phone and an Interpol phone that would do her no good.

Emily had to tell  _ someone  _ what was going on, but she had no way of contacting anyone at the office. AAA had already informed her it would take nearly three hours for their tow truck to come pick her car up, and she couldn’t exactly ask an Uber to pick her up in the midst of mid-size sedans whizzing by at 70 miles per hour.

She cursed her luck and the phone she was holding for no other reason than the fact that she had to curse something. Looking down at her phone one more time, Prentiss scrolled through her contacts in the hope that a benevolent god had granted her a miracle. 

They had. Emily spotted a name that she had skimmed by twice before. But she didn’t know if it was a good idea to call him. It could do more harm than good...but did she have a choice? Her team would assume the worst, and she needed to put someone in charge to keep them in check.

The Unit Chief weighed her options carefully. Deciding that she had to make that call, she dialed the number of a certain FIO Bell.

**Quantico, Virginia**

FIO Bell may have gotten a little carried away.

He looked around with panic evident in his eyes as he realized that in the two hours he’d been in the office alone, he’d unknowingly completed nearly everyone’s set of files for the week. Even Morgan’s, and that was saying something.

He knew he was trapped. They’d know he’d been the office far longer than he claimed he would be, and it wouldn’t take a genius to connect the dots. What, with his behavior, his obvious lack of sleep, combined with the fact that he’d been the most productive member (more than Reid!) despite being the newest; Bell knew the profilers would figure it out. He’d have to come up with a miracle of an excuse if he wanted to retain any semblance of distance between him and the family he’d tried so hard to stay away from.

Just then, his Interpol phone rang.  _ Why is this thing going off?  _ FIO Bell picked it up confusedly without looking at the Caller ID, assuming it was someone else. 

“Dennis, I swear to god if this is another one of those national security meetings, I’m going to gouge your eyeballs out!” Bell said in one breath.

Prentiss failed to hold back a chuckle. “It’s me, Bell.”  _ National Security Meetings? What is that about?  _ she wondered.  _ I have to look into that later. _

“Ma’am--I’m so sorry, I was expecting someone else--no one ever calls--I apologize…Did you need something, ma’am?” Bell was uncharacteristically flustered. 

“Yeah, I did, Bell. I’ve had terrible luck all day, and I don’t think I’ll be getting rid of it any time soon. I want you to go to Section Chief Cruz and inform him that I’m taking personal time for the rest of today. If they haven’t arrived yet, gather the team in the conference room and explain the same once they’re there. If you get called out on a case, leave without me, I’ll catch up later.”

Bell understood some of what she said, but…”Ma’am, a few questions. I’ve never met the Section Chief, I don’t know how to talk to him. Also, how are we going to go out on a case without you? Should I tell Morgan he’s been made Acting Unit Chief?”

Prentiss sighed. This part was going to be hard. “Listen carefully now, and don’t interrupt me.” She proceeded to explain everything and some more. As an FIO, he had the same security clearance as the Vice President. His clearance trumped everyone but POTUS. This meant something else. “So, even though Morgan has significant seniority...as per protocol since you have the highest authority on this team--more than me, even--you’re the de facto choice.”

Bell nearly dropped his phone.  _ What. The. Hell.  _ “So--you’re telling me...that I’m ACTING UNIT CHIEF? Ma’am, all due respect, but I am hardly appropriate for the title.”

Emily didn’t want to hear it. “SOP, FIO Bell. As your superior, I am directly ordering you to assume the role of Unit Chief temporarily. You know what you need to do and all the paperwork, you’ve done it all before at Interpol. Goodbye.” She hung up.

There was nothing standard about this operating procedure. She had full discretion as to who would take over her role in her absence. But she knew, this was a good way to bring the rest of the team together. Bell had succeeded in keeping them at arm’s length for far too long.

Even Garcia didn’t know where he lived or how he got to the office. He never drove. Garcia knew everything about EVERYONE. Prentiss knew the rest of the team immediately would understand her plan here. But Bell wouldn’t.

Bell’s mouth was left agape. How was he supposed to lead a team he had no idea how to lead?! He had no mandate! How was he going to explain this to the team?! They’d almost certainly disregard him. Bell only had one choice. Once the team got here, he’d tell Morgan that he should act as Unit Chief. Hopefully, they wouldn’t get a case today anyway. 

In the meantime, he had to go find a Mateo Cruz.

**7:03 am**

The remaining agents of the BAU walked in to the office together after a team breakfast that neither Prentiss nor Bell had chosen to attend, but that was not out of character for them. What was out of character was the sight before them.

“Emily AND Bell aren’t here?” JJ asked incredulously.

“I don’t think Emily’s missed a day since she said she was going to quit!” said Morgan.

Reid added, “And Bell’s always in the office before me.”

“That kid’s always the last one out and the first one in.” Rossi noted. “Look at his desk anyway; those are your files. He’s done all of them. And his bag is here too. Does he even leave the office?”

“I don’t know, but where is he? And where is Emily?” Garcia asked worriedly.

“I’m sure she’s fine for now, Baby Girl,” said Morgan.

The group dispersed to their desks to finish the two or three files that Bell hadn’t gotten to. Ten minutes later, Bell walked through the glass doors, looking around, making sure everyone was there. When he was satisfied that they were, he walked up the steps, and said loudly, “Can someone get Garcia and meet me in the round table room in two? It’s time for the briefing.” 

The team looked at each other, perplexed, but obliged his request anyway. Once everyone was situated, he began. “Okay, so...Unit Chief Prentiss is taking PT for the day, she’s had some car trouble. I’ve already spoken with her and Section Chief Cruz, and they told us we’re still on call.”

_ Ah,  _ JJ thought.  _ That’s where he was, with Matt.  _

Morgan then asked a valid question. “In case we get a case, who’s acting Unit Chief? I’m assuming that she named someone.”

Bell sighed. “Yeah, so...about that. Um...she told me that since apparently I have the highest security clearance...it’s me.”

Pindrop silence, but a conversation was being had through glances. And just as Prentiss had predicted, the team all came to the same conclusion--Prentiss’s master plan. With imperceptible nods, they all turned back to face a nervous and fidgety FIO Bell.

“Yeah, sure, it’s SOP,” said Morgan. It wasn’t and they all knew it.

“Really?” Bell looked surprised that the team hadn’t broken into riot yet. “Well, then I guess you’re all free to go?”  _ Wow. That went way better than expected.  _

Just as the team was leaving the room, and Bell thought he’d gotten away with a clean break, his phone chimed with a text message. From another Unit Chief. 

_ Damn.  _ “Um, hold up, guys,” called Bell. 

Before they turned around to face him, they all smiled at his dropping of the formalities he usually addressed them as.

“We’ve, um, got a case. Florida. I guess we’ll um, brief on the jet?”

The team nodded. 

“All right then. Wheels up in 20.” 


	6. Season 1: Episode 6: "Saint Pete"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a/n: just wanna clarify that any potential romances will take forever to blossom. Because i love stories like that. And you will too. Btw imagine this is happening before the terrible seasons 11-15 plotlines.

**7:12 am**

FIO Bell pulled Derek aside into Prentiss’s office after dismissing the rest of the team.

“Agent Morgan, I know you really should be Unit Chief right now. So, even though it’s not SOP, are you willing to take on that role for now?” Bell asked, hoping he’d take it.

Morgan had known this was coming somehow. He wasn’t about to let Bell get off that easily. Emily’s plan was genius and he intended to see it through to the finish. “Sorry, Bell. I’m not trying to get Cruz on my butt about violating protocol,” he chuckled. “It’s your job.” He full well knew he was lying about it being protocol, and that Cruz would be on him even if he was.

“But, sir--”

“No buts about it. This is your team to lead,” Morgan said, leaving. 

Bell sighed. He had to lead a team he’d tried to stay away from. And he was aware that this could be the straw that broke the camel’s back. His defenses against getting too close had always been strong, yet this team--no, family--was able to crack it beyond repair. He only hoped he would be transferred before he got too attached.

**7:25 am | BAU Jet**

The team boarded the BAU Jet and as usual, Bell was the last one on. He stepped to take his usual seat near the edge of the plane, far away from the team when he realized it was occupied by a smug-looking Rossi.

Damn. The oldest agent had figured out his plan to avoid talking to the rest of team. He looked around noticed there was an open space on the sofa next to where Dr. Reid was sitting. It was unusual. Bell felt oddly comfortable being near, and talking to, Reid. He never felt like that when talking to anyone else on the team. He zeroed in on the spot and vowed to take it after the plane had taken off. 

He did not notice that JJ had seen him decide upon the spot. 

Reluctantly, Bell took a seat next to the aisle, where the 2x2 seats were. The other three seats were taken by JJ, Morgan, and since they were an agent down, Garcia. He was obviously uncomfortable with his proximity to the rest of the team but kept silent until the jet had reached cruising altitude. He started to unbuckle himself to move to his desired spot next to Reid when suddenly the blonde sitting across from him dashed across to the same spot.

The Officer was rather confused. As JJ took a seat next to Reid, much, much closer to him than anyone else on the plane would have, something clicked. The longing glances, the lingering touches, the proximity that JJ seemed adamant on shrinking. 

Jennifer Jareau--well, technically Jennifer  _ LaMontagne _ , but she hadn’t wanted to change her maiden name--was in love with the Good Doctor. Bell cracked a rare, genuine smile. Oh, were they perfect for each other. 

However, while Bell was smirking at a budding romance, the rest of the team was smirking at his joy. They were oblivious to the source of it, lest Garcia break out into a shrill scream at half past 7 in the morning. They all thought to themselves,  _ the plan is working. _

And it was.

Bell broke a comfortable silence by saying, “Let’s brief now, I guess--I mean, if you want to, of course.” His smile faded.

The team all gathered closer to the center of the plane and Bell started. “So here’s what we know. Three Jane Does…” and so the discussion started. And they all focused on the case.

Well, all but one. JJ, sitting next to an oblivious Spence, was lost in her thoughts. _Am I being too obvious? I can’t be. They’ll just think this is us being best friends like usual._ She was right, except for Bell, no one on the plane blinked at how JJ was inches away from straight up straddling Reid. JJ didn’t want to wreck her family but Reid’s closeness made her insides churn in a way she’d never felt before.

Not with Will. 

Not with anyone.

**10:21 am | St. Petersburg, Florida**

The BAU team had to solve this case quickly. If the media got wind of a serial killer as brutal as the one they were dealing with now, the community would be set into such a panic, the serial killer would go dormant.

They couldn’t afford that, so Bell had to make some on-the-fly decisions. “Alright, we’ve only got a day before he strikes again. Agent Jareau, you and Dr. Reid head to the homes of the victims to interview them.” Bell smirked internally at that. 

Before he could continue speaking, though, Rossi interjected, “Bell, you’re dropping the formalities now. You’re Unit Chief, meaning you call us what you want. As your superior, I am formally ordering you to stop being so damn polite.” 

Bell sighed. “Fine. But I’m dropping them as soon as Unit Chief Pre--sorry,  _ Emily _ , returns.” Part of why he’d avoided using their names so far was the fact that he would get attached. He  _ couldn’t  _ do that. He couldn’t afford to. He restarted. “Jennifer, you and the Doc head to the victims’ families houses to interview them. Rossi, you and Derek pay a visit to the M.E. There’s something missing from the autopsy report and I don’t like it. Examine the bodies carefully.” The two men nodded. “Penelope, you’re with me at the precinct. Then I’ll go visit the latest crime scene.”

The team disembarked the plane after getting their orders. JJ and Reid took one SUV, but before they left, they turned to face each other and say the things on their minds in unison.

“ _ Jennifer? _ ”

“ _ The Doc?” _

The duo burst out laughing and in between gasps, JJ said, “You know, I’ve always hated being called that but I think since it took so much convincing for us to get him to drop the titles, it seems sweet!”

“Well, speak for yourself, JJ,” Reid said, still guffawing. “He called me  _ The Doc _ . I quite like it though.”

“I guess Emily’s plan is working.”

“Yeah, and quick thinking on your part, by the way,” complimented Reid. “Forcing him to stay at the center of the conversation by moving next to me.”

_ That’s not why I did it, Spence.  _ “Yeah! You know, you’re not the only genius on the team.”

**St. Petersburg Medical Examiner’s**

“We’ve got another genius on the team!” exclaimed Rossi, looking at the bodies on the M.E.’s table.

“I have no idea how I missed this, I’m really sorry,” apologized the M.E. “I don’t know how I missed that puncture wound.”

“Don’t worry, the guy who noticed this--he’s better than CSU techs at their jobs and he never took forensics. That’s the type of guy he is.”

**SPPD Headquarters**

Garcia struggled to keep up with FIO--well,  _ Unit Chief _ , Bell’s brisk pace as they entered the modern, elegant police headquarters of St. Pete. A detective walked into the lobby to direct them. 

“Hello, you must be the BAU?” The woman asked, eyeing Bell. 

“Yeah, that’s us.” All traces of the stutter Bell had had on the plane had vanished. “I’m Acting Unit Chief Bell. This is our Technical Analyst, Penelope Garcia.” As he confidently introduced himself and Garcia, the perky woman waved.

“No first name, huh? In that case, I’m Detective Jorgensen. Welcome to St. Pete, although I wish you were here under better circumstances. We’re not equipped to deal with...well whatever this sicko is.”

“Let’s get to work then, Detective.”

**11:32pm**

A long day of work had led to a successful deliverance of a profile, and a dismissal of the team to their hotel rooms by Bell.

The FIO, however, remained at the precinct, hours after the rest of the team left. He would never admit it to anyone, but he was scared of going to sleep. It wasn’t like he’d slept in a bed recently anyway, and he definitely hadn’t slept for more than three hours, so his body was used to the insomnia.

So he stood, unmoving, just staring at the evidence board, trying to do as a single man what had proven too tiresome for an entire team; figuring out which poor woman would be brutalized tomorrow. His neurons were firing a mile a minute. 

So his brain did what it could to keep itself from going insane. To rest, without sleep. He slipped into a dissociative state. Bell hadn’t noticed. He stood there, in a white button down, black tie, and corduroys, for hours, unmoving, trying to make sense of the victimology. His thoughts swirled around his head, unintelligible and never being completed before he made the next logical leap. 

_ White woman, 30s-- _

_ 61% non-Hispanic whites-- _

_ Karen Mc-- _

_ Foster child-- _

_ Adopt-- _

_ Abusiv-- _

_ Hairline fractu-- _

_ Greenville Hosp-- _

_ Dr. Rich-- _

Just as the sun began to rise, he figured out the common thread connecting all the women. He snapped alert, still not realizing how he’d been in his own brain for nearly eight straight hours. FIO Bell sprinted out of the precinct to his car.

He had to confirm his theory with the team. However, he’d forgotten to do one very important thing.

**8:01 am**

The team was converging in the hotel cafeteria, just starting to wonder where their AUC was, when he burst in. 

“I figured it out. What connects all the victims. The--everything--just--precinct, now!” he said, panting.

The team hurriedly followed him to the evidence board in the station where he clearly laid out his thinking and the evidence.

“Look, all of these women were white, and in their 30s, right? And we couldn’t find anything connecting their pasts. It as because their past was hidden.” 

He frantically explained how all of the women spent some time at a certain hospital after being fostered in the same home very briefly, and how they’d all had the same injury that was never reported in the electronic system. Only in the files.

The team watched in amazement as it all clicked into place, and Garcia rushed to find another woman who’d also experienced the same abuse. Only one living woman remained.

“Okay--now I know you guys want to rush in and save the woman, but she’s safe for now, right?” Bell addressed the police force gathered before him. “So here’s what we’ll do--”

Bell outlined a plan for a discreet stakeout of Mrs. Cromartie’s house.

After everyone had been assigned their jobs, Bell exhaled strongly and nearly collapsed. This was not unnoticed by the members of the BAU, and neither was the fact that he wore the same clothes as yesterday, and that his hair was a mess.

“Kid,” Rossi called. “Just how long did you spend figuring this out? Did you even come to the hotel?”

As Bell strained to remember how long he’d spent here last night, his brain decided it’d had enough. His eyes rolled up in his head and he fell to the floor.


	7. Season 1: Episode 7: "A Little Bit Closer"

**Saint Claude Hospital | 9:37 am**

It was funny to Garcia. She knew everything about everyone, yet when the nurse frantically asked for Bell’s age, she couldn’t give it to her--because she didn’t know. She’d never not known something so simple about someone.  _ And just when you needed us the most, we failed you,  _ Penelope thought sadly.

The team was sitting in the waiting room in the St. Petersburg hospital--it wasn’t like they had anything better to do anyway. The profile had been delivered, the surveillance set up; it was only a matter of waiting for nightfall. So they all sat there, stewing in their own thoughts. It had been nearly an hour and a half since Bell had been rushed into the hospital, and other than the nurse asking for his vitals, they’d had no contact with any medical staff.

Rossi was reminiscing about exactly that encounter with the frazzled nurse with a slight chuckle. It had gone like this: 

_ The BAU had arrived following the ambulance not a minute after the FIO was wheeled into the depths of the medical facility. A little while later, a nurse, who refused to answer any questions about him because “ _ they weren’t family”,  _ started asking questions about him. _

_ Age. Allergies. Medical History. Next of kin.  _

_ No one could answer anything and the nurse became rather exasperated. “You insist you’re the closest thing to family he’s got, but you don’t know anything about him!” She walked away, and the words really started to sink in. _

And that was what the agents were mulling about currently. Morgan recalled that day Bell had found them in Garcia’s office, talking about how to crack his shell. 

“You don’t,” he had said, stepping into the room. “You can’t crack me. You won’t find out anything about me. With all due respect, we’re coworkers, and let’s keep it at that. I’ve only been assigned here temporarily.” He turned and walked out of the room.

Garcia had taken his admonishment as a challenge and used every database possible to try and find out anything at all about her mysterious new friend. Morgan, Reid, and JJ all watched as she failed time and time again. 

But that hadn’t stopped them from trying to crack him, and now they were all wishing they’d tried harder. Maybe if they’d cracked him sooner, they could have helped his doctors out. 

Speaking of whom, one very stern looking one was walking toward them now. 

“Are you here for...well, the chart only has a title and a last name, so, are you the family of FIO Bell?” she asked, scanning the agents suspiciously. 

“Well, not exactly--” Reid started, but JJ cut him off.

“We’re the closest thing he has to one right now.” 

“Right. Well, from what I can tell, your FBI agent has been struggling with the worst case of insomnia I’ve ever seen. I don’t know what brought it on, but I recommend he see a psychologist. His lack of sleep, and I’m assuming high-stress life, had brought on an onslaught of fatigue so strong, he’s lucky he didn’t fall into a coma,” the doctor explained. 

The team stood wide-eyed at these revelations. 

“Now, I’m going to keep him here for observation overnight, just so he can rest. I highly recommend not waking him up when you go see him--it seems to be the most sleep he’s gotten in a while. He’s in Room 376. Please be quiet.” She then motioned the team in and they briskly walked toward where Bell slept.”

Much to their surprise, Bell actually was asleep when they got there. They’d never seen him in that state before. He was always awake, always alert, last one out, first one in. 

“You know...he almost looks  _ happy  _ like this,” Rossi joked softly.

The team let out a few quiet chuckles. 

**7:19 pm**

Bell awoke from his recurring nightmare with a start.  _ Those damn fireworks,  _ he thought. He looked around and realized, to his chagrin, that he was situated in a hospital bed, in a hospital room, in a…you guessed it, hospital!

Bell then realized something a good deal more surprising.  _ He wasn’t alone.  _ In front of him, conked out in a plastic hospital chair, was none other than David Rossi. Quickly checking his phone, and realizing he’d been asleep for ELEVEN HOURS, he came to the conclusion he needed to head back to the precinct. After all, he had to be there when the unsub was apprehended.

Silently, he changed into a t-shirt and shorts (god knew where his dress shirt and pants were), and not wanting to wake Rossi, he simply left a note on the bedside table he was sure to see when he awoke. 

FIO Bell slipped out past the snoring agent and into the real world, ready to head back to the precinct when... he found out he had no way of getting to the precinct. He sighed deeply and pulled out his phone to call an Uber when a hand clapped on his shoulder.

“Going somewhere?” Morgan asked.

“Derek--the stakeout--unsub--I need to be there!” 

“Calm down, Bell. You’re fine. We already got him.”

“How--”

“Don’t worry about it. We got him safely. 42-year-old Brian Kemall. No injuries. Now, get back into your hospital bed before you make me carry you.” 

Bell snorted and opened his mouth to respond--then he closed it. He understood that he was not going to win this argument. He just turned around and walked back into the hospital. 

**Quantico, Virginia | October 28th, 11:22 am**

It had been a few days since Bell’s hospital incident, and something had changed between Bell and the rest of the BAU. Although Bell still had his nightmares, PTSD, insomnia, and depression, and he was still adamant on keeping distance from the BAU family, it was clear to everyone involved that the team dynamics had changed.

The Officer knew exactly what it was that caused it. It was the fact that no matter how much he pushed them away, they kept showing up. They kept making sure he was resting. And for that, he would respect all of them forever. So even though he didn’t want to; even though he knew it would only bring trouble; he let them a little.

No longer was he perpetually serious, insistent on addressing everyone with titles of respect, and silent. No, he actually took part in some joking, lighthearted conversation, and even slipped Morgan the occasional file, though he still did a good portion of everyone else’s paperwork. They knew it, but they decided not to push too hard for the moment. 

Currently, Bell and Reid were engaged in a heated debate over Halloween. Even though he inherently trusted the rest of the team now, he was still most comfortable with the 29-year-old doctor, whose birthday it coincidentally happened to be. 

“The commercialization of the holiday disrespects it Gaelic roots; it’s just a crude cash grab for candy companies and costume makers!” argued Bell, fifteen minutes into it.

“It also enables children to express creativity and to be whomever they wish for a night!” Reid retorted.

“Express creativity how?” Bell snorted. “By choosing which piece of plastic they’ll adorn standing in a Walmart aisle? Companies profited nearly $9 billion just from the Halloween season in 2019!”

“Forget about the corporatism aspect for a minute, there were studies--”

“Oh, I’m sorry that my political beliefs about greedy corporations  _ stealing from the working class  _ by culturally approriating a HOLIDAY got in the way of your argument!” Bell said hotly.

“The studies showed that child psychological developm--”

“That’s enough, you two!” Although Prentiss was glad her plan had worked, and Bell had let down some walls, hearing Bell and Reid debate constantly about anything and everything in the middle of the bullpen took its toll.

“Hmph.” Bell returned to his desk, grumbling. “I did all my paperwork anyway, why am I even still here?”

“ _ Because _ ,” whispered JJ with a glare, “It’s Spence’s birthday, and you’re not leaving till Garcia give him cupcakes. Hell, you’re not gonna weasel your way out of drinks later either.”

“Oh, yeah--it’s  _ Spence’s birthday… _ ” Bell smirked and looked pointedly at the blonde.

Panic bells sounded in JJ’s head and suddenly she grabbed his arm and pulled him into her old office. Locking the door, she turned to berate Bell when she noticed the smug look on his face. “You know…” she said softly.

“It’s pretty damn obvious, Jennifer.”

“Have the others noticed yet, do you think?” JJ was panicking.

“I think Rossi may suspect something, but considering I read body language the best out of all of you, I doubt anyone else does. Your secret’s safe with me.” 

JJ breathed a sigh of relief.

Bell’s expression turned serious. “How’re you gonna deal with this, if I’m not overstepping any boundaries? You’re married, right? I don’t know if you have kids, but how is this going to work?”

“How is  _ what  _ going to work?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Jennifer. You’re clearly in love with the Doc. Probably always have been. You’re going to kill yourself staying that marriage if you’re that deeply infatuated with Spencer.”

“I can’t--I can’t tear apart my family!”

“Look, I’m the last person to turn to for advice. I suck at emotions, even more so with one I don’t even believe exists. You have to make a decision for yourself. And don’t act like such a hardass all the time. It’s ok to let down your mask.”

JJ snorted, with a  _ look who’s talking  _ expression on her face. “Yeah, sure.”

Bell unlocked the door and left the room, but something he’d said resonated with her. Well, all of it had, surprisingly, but one piece a little bit more than the rest. “ _...more so with one I don’t believe exists.”  _

Did he not believe in love?

**4:09pm**

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!” The conference room erupted in cheers and Spencer Reid looked around with a sheepish smile. 

“Thanks, guys,” he said timidly. 

Garcia presented her famed cupcakes with a flourish, Rossi kissed his cheeks, Morgan clapped his back, Emily embraced him, and JJ--well, she did everything. Bell gave him a congratulatory look, and said, “Enjoy 29.” 

The team got swept up in the festivities. No case, slow day, paperwork done--they were having a great time. That was why no one noticed Bell’s expression change as he glanced down at his Interpol phone. That was why no one noticed him quietly slip out of the room. 

It was better this way.


	8. Season 1: Episode 8: "Contemplations"

**5:16pm, October 28th | Washington Union Station (DC)**

“Richest country in the world... have to wait an hour… terrible public transportation… Singapore metro…” Bell grumbled barely coherent words to himself as he waited for the Acela Express to take him to New York. He  _ sorely  _ missed the efficiency of Singapore’s Metro System and Europe’s Rail Network. 

Impatiently tapping his foot, he flashed back to the text he’d read at Reid’s makeshift party.

_ 1 hour ago… _

_ Bell gave him a congratulatory look, and said, “Enjoy 29.”  _

_ Swept up in the celebrations, no one noticed Bell frown at the screen of his Interpol-issued phone.  _

_ A text was displayed, and it was obviously causing him extreme discomfort. _

**_4:09 pm - Secretary of Interpol Affairs in the United States: UN, NYC. 7pm. Concerns Operation Remedial._ **

Operation Remedial. That damn op just would not leave him alone, would it? It haunted his sleep, his dreams; why not haunt his waking hours? Why not take from him the one solace he found in his sleepless days: the sun? The warmth? It wasn’t like he, too, was human was it? 

Bell hated it. He hated feeling hopeless, feeling tired, feeling dead on the inside. He longed for the days when he was permitted to  _ live.  _ To not just lead a miserable existence, but to laugh, to like, to  _ love.  _ Bell wasn’t too sure if he even knew what love felt like.

Such a foreign word. So ambiguous, yet so specific. What was it? Of course, as Bell and his favorite doctor both knew, it involved chemicals in the brain. Yet, did it exist? How did one make oneself experience it? How could a curious mind not wonder whether or not its existence was simply a social construct? One created by the necessity of the human race to survive?

He was shaken out of his deep thoughts when the train he needed to board finally arrived. Wearily, moving like a man who’d lived multiple lifetimes, he walked in, displaying his FBI credentials to keep his concealed carry weapons on him, and his ticket to the attendant. 

Bell flopped down, wondering when it was that he’d lost his faith in the good of the world. Maybe it was when he  _ murdered  _ an innocent family. Maybe it was before that. Maybe it was from when…

_ Absolutely not, Bell! You promised yourself to never think about...THAT...ever again. You left them behind. Keep them in the past.  _

He didn’t know how much longer he could. 

**U.N. Building | 11:44 pm**

After hours upon hours of meetings from his superiors, Bell collapsed in a seat somewhere on the 14th floor of the building no less frustrated than when he walked in. None of his questions were answered, none of his doubts alleviated, none of confusion clarified. What was his  _ task?  _ Why was he working for the  _ FBI?  _

It was nights like these that often made Bell wish he hadn’t chosen such a lonely career path. He was a man of few words, one who didn’t need human comfort often. He was perfectly happy playing video games, getting lost in a book, or playing sports. But on rare occasions, he wondered what his life would be like if he’d been a lawyer like he’d once planned to be. 

He was into his mid-20s at this point. Would he have a girlfriend? Would he have a  _ boyfriend _ ? Would he be married? Kids? Pets? A house? Actual sleep? A deep sigh was emitted, one from the deepest depths of a barely beating heart. It was like he was trying to dispel his thoughts much like he was dispelling carbon dioxide. 

It was a shame it wouldn’t work. 

**Later…**

_ WHY WEREN’T THE FIREWORKS STOPPING? _

_ The three guns turned to aim at him. _

_ “No--noo..no!” _

_ The bullets rained. _

Bell nearly jumped out of the chair he’d fallen asleep in. That nightmare was becoming more and more frequent. He didn’t understand why.

Shaking it off, Bell stood and walked to the glass window, overlooking some of the Big Apple. He was stuck here for the time being, and there was no use renting a hotel room when he’d gotten all the sleep he would be getting. The moon shone brightly in the night sky, Bell felt a little calmer looking at the hustle and bustle of a city that never slept.

What was he to do? Clearly, it was past midnight, not leaving much to do, and Bell was sick and tired of the UN building. Interpol had taken all the fun out of this place.  _ Operation Remedial. _ One of these days, he’d give the SIAUS a piece of his mind.

Today was not one of those days. Instead, he exited the building, and grabbed one of the CitiBikes near the entrance. He decided if he had nothing to do, might as well bike aimlessly around the city. Bell did not realize what this would look like to a technical analyst tracking the position of his FBI phone. 

At first, he just biked around Manhattan, not really going anywhere, not really taking anything in, just allowing himself a rare moment of serenity as the cool night breeze blew in. He biked past the various embassies and diplomatic missions, by the Empire State, by the Chrysler Building, into Times Square.

Then subconsciously, Bell’s feet pedaled him toward a place he somehow knew the location of, despite having never been there before. It was a huge distance, but one he paid no mind to. Incredulously, he ended up in front of the FBI office in New York. As he snapped out of his stupor, Bell laughed dryly. Even when he wasn’t at work, he ended up  _ at work.  _ His work had become his life.

He simply walked into the building, not knowing what he was looking for, just knowing that he ended up there for a reason. 

**Quantico, Virginia**

Penelope Garcia and Emily Prentiss had become inebriated to such a point that Reid was rather surprised they weren’t dead. Emily’s Unit Chief inhibitions had been absorbed into her ridiculously high blood alcohol level, and she was currently exhibiting the same level of self-control as Garcia.

They slurred random things, progressively becoming more and more drunk, and Reid could not wait to leave this bar, go home, and curl up with a good book. Unfortunately, the whole BAU was here and he had to wait a little while longer. 

Surprisingly, JJ had neither gone home to Will and the boys, nor had she drank much, a deviation from the norm. She had good reason for controlling her alcohol intake (lest she turn into a giggling mess and giving into her carnal urges). She and Spencer were just sitting at a table, bemusedly watching the antics of their friends. 

Rossi’s scotch had led to him looking for a Wife #4, and Morgan was out there wooing another girl into his bed, while the other two women of the team alternated between the dance floor and intently watching Garcia’s laptop screen.

Suddenly, JJ noticed a conspicuous lack of men named Bell in the room. “Hey, Spencer, you know where Bell is?”

Reid replied, “No, although I suspect that Garcia might,” as he watched them with a little interest. “He left sometime after Garcia finished stuffing me with sugar.” 

The blonde laughed. “I  _ told  _ him he wouldn’t be able to weasel his way out of drinks tonight, but he managed to anyway. I really needed to talk to him.”

“What about?” 

_ Crap crap crap crap.  _ JJ absolutely, in no way, could tell the doctor what she needed to talk to Bell about. “Just Middle East stuff, you know how it is with the Pentagon…” 

“I can’t say I do, but I guess he would, wouldn’t he?”

A comfortable silence resumed between them when Jennifer broke it again. “Okay, mister, enough with the sitting. You’re dancing. With me. Now. Spencer.”

The brunette laughed as he got up and said, “As long as I’m allowed to leave after this.”

_ But leave and do what, Spence?  _ JJ thought sadly.  _ You don’t have anyone to go home to.  _ She really wished she could change that. She wished she was the one he looked forward to meeting at home, not an empty house and a book.

As she danced with Reid a little closer than necessary, she mulled over the words Bell had said to her in the afternoon. 

_ “You’re going to kill yourself staying in that marriage if you’re that deeply infatuated with Spencer.”  _

She began to wonder if he was right.

**New York FBI Office**

A bored Bell offered to consult on some cases, much to the happiness of a few overworked agents. They were confused as to why he was in New York, considering the BAU Alpha Team was based out of Quantico, but in no way were they going to complain. 

So, for a few hours, he sat there in New York, completing paperwork and mind-numbingly simple cases, until his phone rang. With an hour till sunrise, the Acela was running again, meaning Bell could get home.

He dropped off his paperwork, walked out of the office, and took the train back to DC and then bussed to Quantico, just in time to beat the rest of the team, who were walking on Friday morning with hangovers that felt like a thousand bands were banging drums in their head.

“Where were you last night, Bell?” asked Reid, the first of the team to walk in. 

“Around, heh.” 

“Well, a little birdie told me you ditched my ‘birthday’ drinks to stroll around New York,” he said jovially. 

Bell saw no reason to lie to him. “Interpol business, I didn’t have time to say goodbye.”

Reid smiled. “Well, at least it got you out of having to witness a drunk Garcia.”

That it had.


	9. Season 1: Episode 9: "The First Encounter"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the bau has its first encounter with him.

**8:23 pm (CT) | Above Iowa**

In David Rossi's experience, one of the best gauges of an agent's personality was how they reacted when they witnessed a gruesome act unfold in front of them; how jaded they were.

The mood was somber in the plane, leaving Rossi to recall his observations throughout the case.

**Yesterday, 3:56 pm**

There was zero time to waste. The locals had waited long enough to call the FBI in, and the local FBI field office also stalled calling the feds. Now the BAU was dealing with seven bodies and zero evidence. The plane had landed and no more than two minutes had passed when the team ran out and hopped into cars.

Rossi and Prentiss made their way into the precinct, exchanging very few pleasantries while the rest of the team dealt with their tasks. While the two oldest agents studied victimology, JJ and Morgan visited the latest crime scene and Reid went with Bell to the M.E.'s.

As soon as everybody had returned, the team immediately jumped into deliberations and sharing their findings.

"M.E.'s report shows abnormal levels of glucose…"

"An aberration in the routine of victim five…"

"Frequented the same cafe…"

"Geographic profile shows overlap in the fifth district…"

It was a frenzy of activity-coming and going with minimal rest. They worked tirelessly through the night. An eighth body would mean political suicide for the Bureau, something that law enforcement could not afford amid a recent wave of anti-police movements.

**Today...**

Late into the night, a breakthrough was made. Just as Reid finished up the geographic profile, Garcia came up with something on her deep background searches, Emily and Rossi figured out the common denominator, and Bell connected it all with Morgan, while JJ finished up the missing piece.

Garcia started. "All of them took a flight in 2010 that passed through Omaha."

Reid sprung up, lightbulbs going off, "That works with the geographic profile! It's the most optimal route for their flights, considering tailwinds-"

"Wait-Omaha, isn't there a federal correctional terminal there?" Rossi asked.

"All federal prison transfers cross-country pass through Omaha International as well!" Emily exclaimed.

Morgan got where she was going with her train of thought. "Baby girl, cross-reference federal prison transfers with the dates that our victims passed through Nebraska…"

Furious typing was heard while Garcia tried to find a possible perpetrator. "No luck, my lovelies. No same prisoner passed through on all seven dates. In fact-" _more typing_ "-no same prisoner ever passed through on even two of the dates."

The team fell into a contemplative silence. Bell looked at Reid's map and the dates, and recalled what Rossi and Emily said. Something clicked.

"Wait! Penelope, run the same search but with US Marshals instead. Since Marshals escort detainees, they would also frequent Omaha!"

He fell back into defeat when this too, yielded no results. He _knew_ the Marshals had something to do with it, he just couldn't figure out what. And having worked with Marshals at Interpol, he knew without a search parameter, they'd never find him.

JJ then piped up with a morsel of brilliance.

"Did you just search for Marshals who participated in inmate transfers, or did you search with Air Marshals too?"

Garcia expanded her search. Boom. They had their man.

"30-year-old Tristan Wallace-he's been a Marshal for five years. He was involved in multiple skirmishes with passengers and convicts over the years-seven reprimands. And guess what dates they were on, my sweets?"

"The dates that our victims came through Omaha?" Reid supplied.

"Correct, Junior G-Man!"

"So why them?" asked Emily.

"Think about it, Prentiss-seven physically fit men who did nothing to break up the fights or help Tristan. This unsub's an injustice collector," Bell answered.

"When does he pass through Omaha next? We have to be ready for him," noted Rossi.

"According to our buddies the Marshals, your Tristan Wallace is scheduled to fly into Omaha tomorrow at around 4:30 in the afternoon, crime-fighters!"

"Time to deliver the profile," JJ said, glancing at the clock. "Actually, speaking of time, let's wait till the morning shift rotates on in an hour and a half."

In the meantime, the team devised a plan of action to apprehend Wallace without endangering any member of the public. This automatically ruled out arresting him in the airport. Considering he would be heavily armed, an apprehension in a deserted locale would be ideal. They _could not_ let him get home, lest he reach for more dangerous weapons.

Little did the BAU know everything would be as far from ideal as possible.

**5:16 pm | Eppley Airfield, Omaha**

From the moment Wallace disembarked, the BAU had eyes on him. First with the DHS and TSA agents patrolling the airport, to the undercover FBI agents tailing him after he hopped into a car, to the NSA satellites keeping an eye on him from above.

Unfortunately, he shook them. Being a US Marshal, he had unfettered access to quite a few judicial documents, many of which identified distinguishing features of plainclothes federal agents, or the flight paths of NSA satellites.

The one thing they desperately hoped would not happen, happened. He swerved, he ran over things, he abandoned and stole cars like it meant nothing, with no regard for life or property. Evasion was his only goal, and he achieved it.

He got home. The place had obviously been ransacked by the FBI and its many firearms confiscated by Marshals, but god only knew how many more weapons he had hidden away in his house's numerous nooks and crannies.

The surveillance agents on Wallace's street only noticed he was home after he deliberately turned on a light in a conspicuous front window. No one knew how long he had been in there. Even if Tristan was sorely outnumbered, nearly 50 to 1, he still had the upper hand.

And unfortunately, it being nearly six o' clock on a Friday evening meant people were out and about. The worst-case scenario had presented itself. There was no way they could wait him out-a standoff would take much too long. Going on the offensive was an absolute no-go; he'd blow himself and numerous federal agents and local officers up without hesitation.

The ball was in Tristan's court. And to his credit, Rossi remembered bitterly, he played his hand perfectly.

A man all-too-familiar with negotiation tactics and government protocol took civilian hostages yet never left the house; he aimed a long-range LMG at an obviously-occupied civilian house and forced the BAU to negotiate for a family of five.

They knew he was a ruthless sociopath with zero regard for his life and anyone else's but even in their wildest dreams they did not imagine he would do what he had.

Nearly 20 minutes into a back-and-forth with Tristan, he stood smugly, speaking condescendingly to those who felt there was no way out below him; the law enforcement officers simply trying to save an innocent family.

"You _will_ let me go. You will remove all surveillance on me. You will take off any alerts on my name or identification. You _will not_ pursue me. If any of these conditions are not met, that family will be meeting their maker soon."

"Tristan, listen to me-" Rossi had tried.

"No. We're done here, SSA _David Rossi_ ," Wallace said mockingly.

In their hearts, they knew he was right. They simply could not risk the lives of fifty-five people by not acceding to Tristan's demands. Even if the SWAT snipers could get a shot on him, the remote detonator in his hand would activate the multiple short-range missile systems and LMGs that he had set up the moment his pulse was no longer detected.

So when they let him walk by, an evil grin on his face toward his car, the BAU expected him to leave, leaving them to their own devices.

That was not what happened.

Tristan _had_ left peacefully. The officials present on the scene waited a minute before breathing a sigh of relief.

That was when all hell broke loose.

**8:27 pm**

Rossi recalled with great sadness the carnage. The bloodbath. The piercing sounds of bullets and missiles going off. Looking at 23 corpses, 23 people who would never say an _I love you_ again, a toll that would undoubtedly increase in the coming days. But more than anything, he recalled Bell.

The look of utter detachment, a face devoid of all emotion as he methodically scanned the hellscape in front of him. His eyes showed a man who'd seen this particular scene one too many times. David watched as hours later, the first semblance of feeling creeped onto Bell's face.

Long after he'd cleaned off the flesh, blood, and brains of the people he had known for too short a time, Rossi watched the anger, the frustration, the determination, the regret flash through his eyes. But the man was too skilled to every bare the sheer amount of pain he truly felt.

In David Rossi's experience, one of the best gauges of an agent's personality was how they reacted when they witnessed a gruesome act unfold in front of them; how jaded they were. In the aftermath of Tristan Wallace, he realized just how broken a man Foreign Intelligence Officer Bell was.


	10. Season 1: Episode 10: "Depressing Season"

a/n: I just realized how similar Bell is to Ziva from NCIS haha. I swear i didn't mean it, i only reached season 3 of ncis four weeks after i started writing this fic. Don't worry, there's no inspiration of any kind, the character will be different.

**Quantico, Virginia | 6:22pm, November 27th**

After the Tristan Wallace fiasco, the Deputy Director of the FBI had personally put the BAU Alpha Team on mandatory stand-down for three days during the week of Thanksgiving and for two full weeks in the holiday season. The BAU had never had that much time off before, showing just how much bad publicity the incident in Omaha garnered.

It was _everywhere_ , being touted as the worst FBI disaster since Waco, let alone since Bale blew up six agents in a Boston warehouse. Photos of the burning Nebraska neighborhood circulated on Twitter and Instagram like wildfire, and headlines from every possible news outlet ( _Fox, CNN, Reuters, The Times)_ were all disparaging of the handling of the situation.

Bell didn't blame them. To be honest, he didn't quite understand how they had let Wallace give them the slip. He had DHS, FBI, NSA on him! And if that wasn't bad enough, the bastard had managed to sneak through a three-level federal agent perimeter without anyone knowing he had gotten there. If Bell were press, he'd be crucifying himself right now.

Now, the FBI had 23 dead people plus 7 consequential deaths, 13 of whom were law enforcement, with almost 20 more in intensive care, and a serial killer turned domestic terrorist on the loose. Not to mention the fact that they had _no fucking clue_ where in the country he was, if he was even still stateside.

Being a US Marshal meant a lot more than just a job. It meant contacts. It meant survival skills. It meant knowing the workings of a system designed to capture the very people Tristan was. Wallace had every upper-hand in the book; and it didn't matter how many damn agents the BAU gathered.

In the days since the attack, the somber mood had lifted from all but one member of the team. All of the progress Bell had made with the rest of the team was thrown at the window as the normally passionate man withdrew into a sullen, laser-focused agent, hell-bent on only one thing. Catching the son of a bitch who decided it was okay to terrorize a residential neighborhood.

No one could quite understand why Tristan had affected Bell so much. The attack was terrible, sure; the BAU knew that and felt that for quite a while before they'd become normal again. Unfortunately, they'd seen it one too many times: unsub evades capture, takes innocent lives with him, vanishes without a trace. And with Bell's Interpol experience, they'd assumed he'd take it at the same pace the rest of them did.

Unfortunately, they did not account for one thing. One very important thing.

The team was currently discussing their Thanksgiving plans, considering tomorrow was the holiday.

"I'm going out with Savannah, I'm going to get blackout drunk, and then I'm going to watch football with her and Clooney. Easy as pie," Derek said.

"Yeah, Will and I are going to be watching the Thanksgiving Classics as well," JJ related. "Henry has suddenly decided he's a Falcons fan, so apparently he and Will are _betting_ on who's going to win tomorrow."

" _Football."_ Garcia said the name with disgust. "No thank you! Sam and I are going to be watching movies by the fireplace all day."

"I second that!" Rossi yelled from the catwalk. "Pasta, wine, and 60s films-I don't need anything else!"

Reid, for once, was excited for Thanksgiving. "There's a Russian film marathon at the _Classico_ all week! Emily's coming too, we're gonna watch them all."

JJ swallowed a pang of jealousy as she listened to Spencer go on and on about how him and Emily would be together practically all weekend, even though she knew it wasn't fair. For the first time, Spence had something to look forward to this week, and she should feel happy. But she couldn't, so she cut him off abruptly. "Bell, what about you?"

The Officer gave no indication of having heard her, sitting a few desks away, focused intently on a scattering of files on his desk. He seemed to be furiously figuring something out, gaze moving from one paper to the next as quickly as his pencil jotted down observations on a notepad.

"Bell? My sweet?" Garcia pressed.

The man in question jumped, startled, and dropped his pencil. "Hm?"

"Thanksgiving plans? Black Friday shopping?"

"Ah...well, not to offend, but I'm not American. Plus, I don't celebrate the genocide of the natives regardless of whether or not I had plans."

"Okay, so what _does_ the mystical Officer Bell do in his free time?" Morgan asked jokingly.

"Um…" Bell scrambled, "I'll probably be up in New York City taking care of some _Interpol business_ , and if I'm done with that before we get called back in, I'll probably come in to finish up some extra work."

The team couldn't help but notice how he said the words _Interpol business_ with some disgust, as if he expected something particularly nasty to be greeting him at the end of that proverbial tunnel. They also were incredulous at his statements.

"Kid," Rossi started, "You really need to get a life outside of work. How do you even _have_ extra work?! You do half of ours anyway."

Bell shot Rossi a death glare. "How I spend my time off is _not_ open for debate. And if you _must_ know, I do have plans to do something non-work related Sunday afternoon. As for the extra work, you all might be surprised to know that there is a _mass murderer_ out there, one _we_ let escape, and I intend to find him before he finds us."

"That's just it kid; _we_ let him escape. It's not only on you to find him. Take a break. You'll be no good if you burn yourself out and we're an agent down!"

Bell shot up angrily. "Foreign Intelligence Officer Bell _does not_ burn himself out!" He said indignantly. "And I don't see any of _you_ sacrificing anything to find this sack of shit!" Bell then grabbed a key card and stormed off.

"I still don't understand why he's taking it so hard…" JJ said softly.

"Well, think about it," started Reid. "Most casualties he incurred, they were of war, or they were unavoidable. This was one hundred percent a law enforcement failure-that's enough to crush a probationary agent on his first day. Couple that with such a high death toll, and it's a miracle his psyche hasn't cracked yet. _17_ civilian casualties."

"We don't know enough about his past to say that for sure, Pretty Boy, but I think you're right."

**UN Building, NYC | 2:31pm, November 29th**

"You will address me with the proper respect, Officer Bell!" The man thundered.

Bell groaned internally. Of course. They were engaged in an actually productive conversation about his task, then when they reached the point of no return, when he'd actually figure out why the hell he was working for the FBI, the Secretary of Interpol Affairs in the United States would simply pivot away over semantics.

" _Sorry,_ The Honorable Mr. Secretary," he said mockingly.

"Look, Bell," SIAUS sighed. "I _cannot_ tell you why you're here. Because I don't know! The order came from above my head."

Incredulously, the Officer asked, "From _above_ you, Simon? There are only three people who have the authority to issue me a relocation-you, the Director of Interpol, or the Secretary General of the UN. You can NOT be seriously telling me DI or SG ordered me to do this."

"One of them did, and they also told me to issue this formal reprimand," Simon said wearily.

" _Reprimand?!_ Freeman, you have _got_ to be kidding me! I've done everything right!"

"For what happened in Omaha. As a ranking official in your unit, you've been audited and your actions were deemed inappr-"

"Oh, piss off, Mr. Secretary!" yelled Bell over his shoulder as he strode out of the room with fervor. On the way out of the room, in sight of Simon Freeman, Bell threw the reprimand file in the trash forcefully.

As soon as Bell had left the room, a man emerged from behind a pillar in the back of the room. Still slinking about shadows, the voice that could only be described as slimy commented, "That went well." And there was not a hint of sarcasm to be found.

**Quantico, Virginia | December 10th - December 23rd**

Bell had come back from the team's Thanksgiving hiatus more withdrawn than he had ever been. He spoke only needed when it was demanded, keeping responses curt and efficient. Very rarely did he let his mask down now, and in those faltering moments, only an internal fire the likes of which even a devil would live in fear of showed.

He completed more and more work, reducing his already astoundingly short amount of time asleep to sneaking moments here and there. No one could tell, but Bell was teetering on the edge of the abyss. Emily did, however, notice something else.

As Unit Chief, she had to read every report that came through. With the amount of work Bell put in, oftentimes it was his, and Prentiss subconsciously psychoanalyzed his word choice. Seeing as it was the only way to gauge his mental state, she broke the moratorium on intra-team profiling.

Every day that the calendar edged closer to the holidays, Bell's wording showed more and more turmoil. It was very worrying. She was able to tell that he was working himself to the bone, overcompensating for some perceived mistake he'd made. She also briefly wondered if Bell would collapse again from his obvious lack of sleep.

She was adamant on not losing another agent to the horrors of the world, especially not such a good one. Even if Bell technically didn't work for Emily. And so, she devised a plan. She knew he would come in to work all two weeks they were off and would complete anything he could. She also knew he wouldn't disobey a direct order.

As she had said on the first day Bell had arrived, he was a stickler for rules.

So Prentiss rolled out Phase One, and waited for the perfect opportunity. It arose when everyone was gathered in the bullpen late one night. A subtle conversation was being had, and she deftly steered it toward holiday plans. Everyone reiterated various mentions of family, the cliched trope Bell hated so much.

"Your turn, Bell," said Prentiss.

He knew he wouldn't get out of this one, and in order to avoid some stupid pity they'd feel for him, he lied. "I'll be flying out west, maybe catch up with some old friends. Nothing serious."

"No Christmas celebration?" asked Reid with a smirk, already aware of the Officer's opinion of the holiday, he, too, not celebrating it.

"Not Christian, not a corporate shill, not a compulsive buyer-no celebration." This was the truth.

_Great,_ Emily thought to herself. She'd seen through his lie, but her plan depended on him sticking to whatever half-truth he brought out.

A week later, Prentiss had sorted out everything she needed to get Bell's mind off Tristan Wallace and his all-consuming solo manhunt to find him. Everyone she'd talked to had agreed to do what she'd asked, and Cruz had even generously offered to regroup this into vacation time for later use.

She waited until the last possible moment so that Bell wouldn't find a way to weasel himself out of it. Early on December 23rd, the final working day of the year for the BAU, she got her chance. Bell was already in, of course, because he always was.

On an evidence board behind him stood proof of the countless hours Bell had spent trying to find Wallace, and he was now staring intently at it. There would be no better chance for her to spring her plan on him.

"Hey, Bell, you know how you said you were flying out to California this week?" she started.

Bell jumped, startled, before he narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "I never said California. I only said out west."

Ignoring what he said, Prentiss continued, "Well, I know that was a lie, and I also know you'll be running yourself into the ground working every day for the next 14 days trying to find Wallace. That is why," she took a deep breath, "I took the liberty of contacting all four California field offices, and offered them your services as a teacher of a forensic law course. All of them graciously accepted. I already know you weren't going to vacation, Bell, and this way you help yourself _and_ let someone else go home to their family. It's a win-win."

Bell glared at his Unit Chief for a solid minute before he realized he had zero argument. "I concede. I'll do it."

**Jareau-LaMontagne Residence, Christmas Day**

JJ lay awake long before Henry's squeal of excitement of " _SANTA CAME!"_

All day long, she was bombarded with images of the same.

Her contemplations.

Her wishes.

The one gift she wanted.

A way to turn back time, make a different decision.

How pathetic that sounded.


End file.
